


Pale Blue Eyes

by roomeight



Category: Blur
Genre: Britpop, Gramon, M/M, blur - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 20:01:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13131078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roomeight/pseuds/roomeight
Summary: Graham gets caught up in one of Damon's acting experiments in college. Loosely based on a true story according to Damon's biography.





	Pale Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I have no explanation for this, other than this is a Christmas gift for Pat. I wrote this a while back and it's been sitting on my drive for almost a year, waiting for some love. This was inspired by some interview I read a while back where some celebrity confessed that they'd saved a photograph of Lou Reed and Bowie kissing underneath their bed as a teenager. The source is lost on me, but I thought Damon would probably share the same sentiment. Also, I wrote this before the Jamie lipstick mirror quote found life on tumblr, that said Sophie (eviljaffafish) gets credit for the first amazing makeup story, so hopefully this isn't reductive, I just needed some glitter boys and Bowie. (don't hate me pls) Oh, and there is (some) drug use in this. Sorry. 
> 
> ALSO Damon actually had to do this in real life. This was one of his actual acting assignments, so sue me. ;)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and merry crimbus, happy holidays, salutations etc. xx

 

 

 

 

 

Damon drew a curved line over the arch of his eyelid and swore. Thick black eyeliner ran a track down the corner of his eye. Shaky fucking hands.

The first time Graham caught him doing it he wasn’t sure what to think. He’d climbed the flight of stairs to Damon’s room two steps at a time, heaving, and pushed open the door to see his best friend sprawled on the floor in front of the mirror, hand frozen in place and holding a long mascara wand. Liquid eyeliner rimmed the outside of his eyes, and on top of his eyelids was a matte black eyeshadow.

Unblinkingly, Damon turned around, regarding Graham’s entrance with cool disposition. He cleared his throat. “Shut the door behind you,” he said, and Graham had to pinch himself just to make sure that he was still awake. Acting as if Graham’s existence was nothing more an unwelcome distraction, Damon reached down to grab the rolled up magazine at his feet and unraveling it looked down and studied it with high concentration.

“Damon, I know you were interested in being a mime, but Jesus Christ, isn’t this a bit much?”

Damon’s eyes flicked upward, regarding him briefly, then returned to his magazine. “You wouldn’t understand, Graham. This is important. This is research.”

“Exactly how is cross-dressing research?”

“It’s not cross-dressing,” Damon corrected, looking visibly irritated. He pursed his lips. “Well, I mean it is, but it isn’t. It’s a school assignment.”

“For what?” Graham guffawed. “Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Damon scowled at Graham in the mirror. “No. Method acting, you twat. I’m supposed to dress up like a woman and walk around London.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not joking, Graham. This is East 15. They’re very serious.”

“I can see that,” Graham said, holding back a laugh.

“What? Do you have a problem with a man dressing up like a woman or something?”

“No.” Graham shook his head. “I mean...it’s just weird to see you with makeup on is all. No offense.”

“Offense taken,” Damon replied, before giving Graham a sour look. “Besides,” Damon went on. “If I do this, I’ll get top marks, and the sooner I can get out of that bloody idiot’s class, the better.”

“Which idiot?”

“The one from the tv show whose wife you insulted?”

“I didn’t insult his wife,” Damon corrected him. “I insulted him. For being a boring, overrated twat.”

“Right,” Graham nodded. “Big difference.”

Graham plopped down onto Damon’s bed with a sigh. “What’s this?” He said, pulling a crumpled magazine out from underneath him.

“Christ,” Damon scolded, grabbing the magazine out of Graham’s hands. “This was hard to find.”

“Sorry,” Graham mumbled. “What is it?”

“Iggy.”

“Iggy Pop?”

“No, the girl down the street.” Damon rolled his eyes. “Yes, Iggy Pop. What other Iggy is there?”

“Well Jesus,” Graham shook his head. “I didn’t know you were on a first name basis with him, but alright.”

Graham lifted the magazine up off the floor and began leafing through it. “Where did you find this?”

Damon gave him a quick once-over. “That? I’ve had that magazine since I was a kid.”

“Really.” Graham’s eyes widened, and he turned the magazine around. It was a black and white photo of Lou Reed and David Bowie almost kissing. “Ahem.”

“Yeah, I hid it underneath my bed.”

“Masturbation material, huh?” Graham muttered, staring down at the photograph.

“Fuck off,” Damon muttered, still staring into the mirror and applying mascara.

Graham laid the magazine down. His shoulders sank. “Well, I thought we were gonna go out.”

Damon furrowed his brow. “Go out where?”

Graham bit his nails. “I dunno. Somewhere fun. Somewhere young people go.”

“This isn’t fun for you?”

Graham laughed. “What? Watching you put on makeup in the mirror and fluttering your eyelids like you want to shag yourself? Not really, no.”

Unperturbed by Graham’s comment, Damon turned around to face him. His eyes took Graham back for a second; his friend’s normal bright blue eyes which were intimidating most of the time had only become amplified by the dark black eyeliner. He blinked, and Graham felt a bit weird inside.

“Do I look shaggable though?”

“God. I’m not answering that.”

“Really.”

“That’s an awkward fucking question.”

Damon frowned. “Don’t be a tosser. Just tell me.”

“For Chrissake Dames,” Graham shook his head. Damon stared back at him, waiting. “Yes. Jesus. You always look great. Is that what you want to hear? Everyone looks like a fucking potato next to you. I don’t even know why you’re asking me.”

A slow smile stretched across Damon’s face. “Because I know you wouldn’t bullshit me.” He paused, studying Graham’s face.

Graham scrunched up his nose. “What are you staring at?”

“Just thinking,” Damon said.

“Thinking what?”

“That I could make you look like him,” Damon answered, and when Graham responded with a confused look, added. “Iggy.”

“What?”

“Yeah, yeah… you’ve got those round eyes, you know.” Damon’s hand dipped down to his makeup supplies. He picked up his eyeliner and began moving towards Graham. “I bet if I just…”

Graham’s eyes widened. “No, no. Absolutely not. What the fuck are you doing?”

“Come on,” Damon whined. “Just let me see what it looks like.”

“Why? I don’t want to look like Iggy Pop.”

“Yes, you do. Everyone wants to look like Iggy Pop.” Damon placed his hand on Graham’s knee. “We’ll wash it off right after, I promise. No one will ever know.”

“Yeah, right.” Graham frowned. “Knowing you, you’ll trick me, and it’ll be a permanent marker that’ll be stuck on my face for a week, and you’ll have a nice laugh then, won’t you?”

“I promise.” Damon forced back a laugh, and when Graham scowled back, he took Graham’s hand into his own. “Trust me. I bet you’ll look good in it.”

“You are bloody bizarre. You know that?” Graham says, turning a light pink.

“Come on,” Damon said, scooting closer to him. “You just need to relax. Now let me—” Damon held Graham’s jaw with his hands, and began pointing the eyeliner stick at his eye.

Graham squirmed underneath his grip. “For fuck’s sake, you’re gonna put my eye out.”

“Oh calm down already,” Damon said, steadying his hand. “It just takes a minute. There,” he said, pulling back to look at his work. “One eye down.”

Graham narrowed his eyes. “Alright, I’ve had enough,” Graham said, pushing himself up to stand, but Damon held him down by the shoulders.

“Sit down,” Damon said, and the way he said it intimidated him. Piercing blue eyes stared back at him, strangely luminescent.

Graham took a deep breath, nervously picking at his nails as Damon finished the other eye with both liner and mascara. “There,” he said, smiling and looking down at his work. “Perfect.”

“Great,” Graham said, moving to stand up. “Now I can wash it off.”

“No,” Damon said, and this time his voice was loud and booming, so much so that the hairs on the back of Graham’s neck stood up as he said it. “You’re staying here for a minute.” He reached down to grab a lipstick tube off of the ground. “We haven’t finished yet.”

Ten minutes later Graham found himself awkward and uncomfortable, staring back at his friend who now looked more like a woman than a man (and a passable one at that—another thing he hated him for).

“You look beautiful,” Damon said with an air of pride, before leaning back to look at his work. Graham knit his brows together.

“You owe me a drink after this,” Graham said.

“I don’t owe you anything,” Damon said indignantly. “If anything, you owe me. Go look in the mirror.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to remember this ever happened.”

Damon rolled his eyes, and reaching behind him picked up a compact mirror and pried it open with both hands. He lifted the mirror up to Graham so he could see his reflection.

“Oh Jesus,” Graham expelled, blushing. Black eyeliner and red lipstick outlined his features.

“Oh Jesus what? You look great.”

“Did you have to do the lipstick?”

“Well,” Damon started.

“I would have been okay with just the eyeliner,” Graham said, leaning toward and mirror and looking closely at his eyes. He furrowed his brow. “Iggy didn't wear lipstick.”

“Whoops,” Damon mumbled, but he was smirking.

“You wanker, I hate you.”

“I think you should go out like this. Really,” Damon said. “All the boys would love you.”

“Boys?” Graham repeated, arching an eyebrow.

“Or girls,” Damon added, before shrugging his shoulders.

“What, are you saying we should both go out like this?”

“Why not?” Damon laughed. “It’s the holidays. That’s what mates do, don’t they? They go out to the pub.”

“Yeah, mates go out to the pub, but not when they’re dressed up as women.”

Damon shot Graham a dubious look. “Well.”

“Absolutely not. No way.”

“Gra, you’re no fun at all.”

“I’d rather be no fun than stupid.” Graham paused, looking glum. “You need to take this off now.”

“Oh come on.”

“I'm serious.”

Damon rolled his eyes again. “What, the lipstick?”

“No, all of it.”

“No, we’re going out, Gra. I already made plans with Alex.”

Graham’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Alex James, you know? Your friend?”

“Yeah, my friend. Exactly,” Graham humphed. “Were both of you just going to go out without me, then?”

“Oooh, someone’s jealous,” Damon taunted, and Graham scowled in response.

“Alright, I’ll come along then.”

Damon grinned wide. “Oh, you’ll love it, Graham. Trust me.”

  
**

  
Slipping himself through the dense crowd of drug and booze-addled bodies, Damon finally found Graham. He sat at the edge of the bar at the dance club like a man out of time, sipping what looked like a gin and tonic but more than likely was a vodka soda that Alex had told him to drink because it would be, as Alex justified it, “less of a hangover.” But truthfully it was because none of them wanted to smell Graham reeking of pine trees in the bus later.

Already, just in the time, it had taken Damon to go to the loo and come back, a vulture with the face of an angel had sat down next to Graham and was making his moves, much to Graham’s behest.

“Hey lover boy,” Damon said, loudly enough to deter Graham’s wannabe suitor in the adjacent seat. He placed his hands over Graham’s eyes. “Are you taken tonight?”

Graham flinched. He pulled Damon’s arms away and looked up at him with mild annoyance. He rolled his eyes. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Open up your mouth.”

Graham scrunched up his nose. “Why?”

“You’ll like it, I promise.”

Graham licked his lips and Damon took that as his cue. He leaned down slowly, kissing Graham on the mouth and parting his lips with his tongue. A small blue pill fell into Graham’s mouth, and Graham’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Ohh.”

Damon placed his thumb between Graham’s teeth and bit down on his bottom lip. “Merry Christmas.”

“You look like Bowie tonight with all that fucking glitter on your face.”

Damon smirked. “And you look like a regular Iggy.”

“Rude.”

Damon trailed his fingers through Graham’s long hair. “Why?”

“I don’t look anything like that.”

Damon licked his lips. Taking a drag off his cigarette, he transferred it to his other hand. “Well, if you had your shirt off it’d be more convincing now wouldn’t it?”

Graham held eye contact with Damon a moment too long before breaking it. “Why don’t you go find Alex? He’s a lovely lanky boy. You’d love him.”

“I don’t want him.” Damon leaned down, whispering in his ear. “I came over here for you.”

Damon smiled as he watched how his fingertips left tiny goosebump trails on the back of Graham’s neck. “Let’s find somewhere private, Iggy.”

Graham stood up from the bar. “You’re awful, and I hate you.”

“Stop lying, or you won’t make across the floor with all your clothes on.”

Graham raised an eyebrow. “Is that a threat?”

Grinning mischievously, Damon toyed with the bottom hem of Graham’s jacket, slipping his right hand up and underneath his t-shirt and onto the soft, warm skin of his stomach. He began to raise his arm up, up, and then—

Graham immediately shoved Damon’s hand down and away. His face was red now. “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re not bluffing.” He paused. “Should we find Alex?”

Damon furrowed his brow. “Are you trying to make me jealous?” Damon’s tone pitched green with envy. He shook his head, pulling Graham into his arms possessively. “No, you’re mine tonight. Mine and no one else’s.”

Graham swallowed and took Damon’s hand as he led them through the crowd of dancers. His heart rate synced up in time with the beat of the music. Damon squeezed his hand, and a rush of cold air washed over them as they slipped into one of the back rooms that had only VIP entry.

Damon quickly shut the door behind them and turned to face him. “You look lovely in eyeliner, you know.”

“No, I don’t. And I hate it.” Graham scowled as Damon began to pull his t-shirt up and off his shoulders.

“It suits you,” Damon said, throwing Graham’s shirt to the floor. He brushed his index finger across the bow of Graham’s cheekbone before leaning forward and kissing it.

“You do look like him,” Graham said quietly, rubbing some of the glitter off of Damon’s face.

“Who?”

“Bowie.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“I do.” Graham paused. “So am I Iggy or Mick in this situation?”

“You’re Iggy. Those big brown eyes. Come on.”

“Iggy has blue eyes.”

Damon sighed. “David Bowie was also about twice as skinny as me. You’re no fun at this game, are you?”

“I’m just stating the truth.” Graham licked his lips and then flicked his eyes upward. “Besides, I thought Mick was Bowie’s favorite.”

Damon knit his eyebrows together. “Oh, on the contrary… everyone knows Bowie loved Iggy more.”

“Why is that?” Graham’s eyes gleamed in the reflecting light of the mirror.

“Because Bowie rescued him, remember?”

Graham shot Damon a funny look. “Are you saying that I need rescuing?”

“Sometimes.” Damon placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Now I do hate you.”

Smirking, Damon leaned down and sunk his teeth into the white underside of Graham’s neck, which in turn caused him to whimper softly. Graham felt his heart leap against his chest as Damon led him backward toward the couch until the backs of his knees were just touching the edge.

Suddenly the room shook with the sound of bass, and Graham felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He felt Damon’s hot breath against his ear. “Are you feeling it yet?” Damon whispered.

“Not yet.” Graham shook his head, nuzzling himself into Damon’s shoulder as Damon pressed him back and down onto the couch. He pressed his lips against Graham’s one more time before leaning back and pulling his shirt over his head.

Graham scrunched up his nose. “You’re getting glitter all over me.”

Damon smiled slyly. “You act like that’s a bad thing.”

“Wow, you are into this little fantasy of yours aren’t you?” A slow smirk stretched across Graham’s face.

“Shh.” Damon placed a finger to his lips. “You should wear black more often. It suits you.” Damon smiled quietly, running his hand down the front of Graham’s jeans.

Graham arched his neck back into the cushions. The bass coming from dancefloor was making the floor vibrate. “Do you think Iggy and David would get it on to New Order?”

“You’re talking a lot,” Damon mumbled as he traveled downward, and Graham bit down on his upper lip as he heard the sound of his zipper being pulled down.

“I’m sure Alex would have sex to New Order.”

“Good God, Graham.”

Graham grinned. “What?”

“I nearly lost my hard-on, thanks for that.”

Graham smirked, pulling Damon’s up to kiss him. “Sounds like someone’s jealous.”

Damon let out a loud sigh. He ran his index finger across the white line of Graham’s collarbone. “I’m not jealous. I’m just not cheesy. There’s a difference.”

“Says the person wearing eyeliner right now.” The corners of Graham’s lips upturned into a sarcastic smile. “You could pass for a fucking girl, you know.”

Damon smiled down at him knowingly. “Is that a bad thing?”

Graham brushed his thumb against the corner of Damon’s lips. “No... Just different.”

Damon threaded his fingers into Graham’s hair, pulling it back and out of his face. “Do you feel it now?” Damon grinned, hovering just inches above him. Strands of blonde hair fell forward onto Graham’s face.

“Yeah.”

Graham trailed his fingers down Damon’s chest. “So much glitter.”

Giving him a devious look, Damon lowered his chin and took one of Graham’s thumbs into his mouth.

Graham squeezed his eyes shut. “We can’t do this here.”

“Says who?”

“What if someone walks in?”

“Then let them,” Damon purred, removing Graham’s thumb from his mouth and moving down to his trousers. Within seconds he’d managed to relieve Graham of his belt and subsequently, most of his underwear.

Graham mewled as soon as he felt a hot warmth between his legs, soft lips trailing up and down his shaft. Fuck, he thought. The glitter was working. His fingers compelled him to pull Damon’s head forward, causing Damon to hum pleasantly. He arched his neck back, biting his upper lip every time Damon would take him all the way into his throat. And as soon as the song ended, and the last few measures were fading into the next dance beat, he came, pulsing warm and hot into Damon’s mouth, lips wrapped around him beautifully, and collapsed sideways onto the couch, eyes half-lidded and a pleasant smile on his face.

Damon rose from his feet, a smile glued to his face, and kissed Graham sweetly, the taste of him still on his lips. Slipping his arm underneath Graham's body, he laid down next to him on the couch and nuzzled his head into Graham's shoulder.

"Merry Christmas, Gra."

Graham sighed, stroking the top of Damon's head with his hand. "Merry Christmas, Des."

"Hey, Graham?"

"What?"

"You might want to take a shower when you get home."

"Why?"

Damon lifted his head, a coy look on his face. "Because I imagine you're going to have a hard time getting the glitter off down there."

"Oh for fuck's sake."

 

 

 

 

 

**  
The end.

 


End file.
